


Spiraling Towards Improvisation

by Deathstar510



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Mission Fic, Team Bonding, the relationships are pre-established and contained to one scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attack by the Dominion is imminent, war is bearing down on Deep Space Nine... and instead of preparing the station for it, Worf is being sent on a training exercise with a cadet.  Orders are orders, but he's not looking forward to playing babysitter - but it's a good thing he's here because this training exercise is about to take a turn for the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duty Calls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jazzypizzaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/gifts).



> Thank you to Paratale for running through this for me for grammar and such! This is one of my longest fics already and it's only 20% done so I thought I'd go ahead and start posting it! Hopefully more is on the way soon.

Deep Space Nine was unprepared for the war ahead of it. Deeply, painfully unprepared. That much showed on every face on the Promenade in some way. The pall of fear and nerves fell over everyone, from shop keeps and children on their way to classes to Starfleet officers whose training wasn’t enough to make them truly ready for war. It was enough to make Worf’s teeth grit together – no one even seemed to know how to start preparing for the coming Dominion attack, let alone how to fight in it.

Klingons kept themselves ready for battle, always. They honed themselves no matter how long peace dragged out between wars. The Federation though… they would drag their heels against what was coming, until they were thrown face first into the inevitable. And then they wouldn’t be ready to take it on. As experienced as the Bajorans were in rebellions, they were too weakened by the Occupation to stand a chance.

It all lay out perfectly clear in front of him how much the station had to do in order to even stand a chance of survival. So when he was called into Ops for assignment, Worf dared to think that Captain Sisko had realized their precarious position. That now they would start to build their defenses and their strategy.

Perhaps he had been too hopeful when it came to the Captain’s awareness of the situation.

“I do not see why I would be needed for a simple supplies run.” Agitation layered into Worf’s voice, into every word. “I understand it is a downed ship, but the circumstances in this case do not sound urgent enough to require—“

“You’re right.” Sisko sat up straighter in his seat, his arms folded onto the desk in front of him. The admission came as a shock actually, but before Worf could say anything further, Sisko continued. “It’s a class M planet, conditions are fairly hospitable, the ship can’t get off the ground but the replicators are working. They could wait a long time actually. But Starfleet does not want them waiting. Every ship we can get functional is a necessity and we are the closest station to provide the parts they need.” A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And if it’s taking Cadet Nog along that you don’t understand, well, he is in field training. So I intend to have him trained.”

There was that as well. Not the main thing that dug under Worf’s skin for sure, but taking a Ferengi along was not making this assignment sound more appealing. Not even a Ferengi who clearly had Sisko’s favor, whatever the reason for that may have been.

He let out a short sigh of air. “I understand all of that,” he replied slowly, careful not to let his voice rise. His gaze though moved somewhere onto the wall. A career in Starfleet had taught him more than just what his classes covered. While a Klingon’s instinct might be to hold eye contact and not let go, especially in a confrontation, humans tended to find it ‘too aggressive’. The Federation was always a balancing act like that, between yielding too much for his honor to bear and standing so tall that they would not accept his presence. Even his pose was formal, restrained, hands clamped behind his back. “What I do not understand is why you would require me to be the one in charge of this.”

That infuriating smile again. It was enough to make him miss the Enterprise – at least Captain Picard gave him far fewer self-satisfied looks. Worf straightened his back further, though he struggled not to let the movement look self-conscious. Sisko, though, seemed to catch the movement and, to Worf’s relief, attempted a more serious look.

He had much to say about this station’s overall lack of formality and the amount of unprofessional behavior that was allowed to occur – a certain bar and bar owner came to mind – but at least he could say that the Captain tried.

Sisko stood slowly, a relaxed posture that Worf made no attempt to match, standing as stiff as he had before. “I’m sending you because there are only a few people I trust to give the Cadet a fair chance to prove himself. Too many consider Ferengi not worth respecting; it’s my job as Captain to make sure that Nog has as fair an opportunity as we can give him. I think that it’s something you can understand, carrying your species along with your own reputation.”

He paused, as if giving Worf a spot to agree, but only got a short nod out of him. Good enough though, apparently, as he soon continued. “And frankly… O’Brien, Dax, and Kira have all already been assigned to tasks, which leaves you.” If it was an attempt to lighten Worf’s mood, it didn’t work, though he doubted that the Captain actually expected it to. He stood in silence a moment, turning the new information over in his head. Talk of trust may have been meant to appeal to him, but Worf was not so easy to sway to a new position.

Worf’s next words came slowly, carefully chosen. “With all due respect, Captain, there is a war brewing. The Dominion could choose to attack at any point. I think that I would be most useful here with the station, not on training exercises with a Cadet.”

“Right again.” Nice to hear, though that tone did not speak well to the idea of Sisko changing his mind, at least he wasn’t arguing that this was the best place for Worf to be used. “There is a war coming. And that’s why I want him on this assignment and you to take him on it.” When Worf just waited for him to continue, clearly unsure how that justified any of this plan, Sisko continued. “I’ve already had to send Nog into a combat situation once due to circumstance, one I can’t honestly say he was prepared for. I couldn’t expect him to be prepared for it. And with the Dominion coming, I’m going to have to do it again. Keeping him out of the fighting won’t be an option, inexperienced or not – all I can do is make certain that he has as many opportunities to learn as I can give him before that happens.”

He came around the desk as he spoke, his wrists loosely held behind his back in a much more casual mirror image of Worf’s stance. His head tilted up to make eye contact and though Worf would not lock eyes with him on his own, he wouldn’t turn away when the Captain did. Their gazes held a moment before Sisko continued. “Besides. If he can survive a supply mission with you, I think the Jem’hadar might start to look easy in comparison.” Exasperation flashed over Worf’s face and Sisko broke into a chuckle, shaking his head slowly. “Now, I’ve already given him his orders, so given how eager Nog has been to please, he’s probably already done with his preparations. You should get ready too. You’ll meet him at the dock in two hours.”

He began to turn away but paused at the last second, looking back. “And Worf… try to make the best of this. It’ll be a quick mission and I promise you, you’ll be back before the war begins. Dismissed.”

The final word was spoken calmly, but all the same, the finality of it was as clear as if it had been shouted. There would be no more arguing or questioning allowed. Worf was on Cadet babysitting duty, whether he liked it or not.  
Stifling the urge to growl with frustration, Worf responded with a nod. “Understood.”

He turned sharply to leave the office, only letting sheer annoyance show once he was safely out of Ops and away from the eyes of his colleagues. It was going to be a long three days.

***

“You realize that this assignment is only a few days long.”

Jadzia kept pace alongside Worf as if she hadn’t even heard him. Her arm wrapped around his, their elbows interlocked as they continued down the hall. Truly, Worf wasn’t actually invested in making her leave and she knew it. Jadzia accompanied him to most of his departures these days and, despite his protests, he’d grown used to having her company to see him off. Still, he never failed to make at least a token complaint about it – if he didn’t protest, she might assume that he was beginning to ‘go easy’ on her, as she would phrase it. That risked her taking the next step and arranging regular parties for him to attend. That Worf could not allow.

He did have a reputation to uphold.

True to Captain Sisko’s prediction, Nog was already waiting at the dock for them, one hand on the strap of a bag slung on his shoulder. The other was taken up by someone Worf wasn’t expecting. Jake had Nog’s hand clutched in his own, long fingers curled tight around the smaller hand. It seemed that Jadzia was not the only one invested in following their partner around everywhere they went.

“Goodbyes are best done before the assignment starts,” Worf said, pulling his arm free of Jadzia’s as he spoke. He straightened up, voice going lower, and all in all did a wonderful job of not acknowledging the hypocrisy of what he had just said. Jadzia still stood not three feet behind him and without looking back Worf could still tell she was rolling her eyes at him. He held his gaze forward nonetheless. Jadzia’s eccentricities aside, it was his duty here to train Nog in proper Starfleet behavior. If he were to ever take an assignment anywhere but right here, he’d need to know this. Deep Space Nine may have been lax on many things, but most posts were not.

Nog squeezed at Jake’s hand once before pulling free of it, straightening his spine up into an attentive stance that would have made a Vulcan proud. His chin lifted sharply, his eyes catching Worf’s immediately. Surprising, actually. Worf had never known a Ferengi to insist on eye contact so readily, especially not when faced with a Klingon. As he had with Sisko, Worf met Nog’s gaze, half expecting the boy to nervously glance away after a few seconds. That moment never came though. Instead, Nog cleared his throat. “Understood, Sir.” He looked back to Jake briefly. “It won’t happen again. This is… it’s just my first multi-day assignment is all. He insisted on coming.”

Worf gave a gruff noise of understanding – he could hardly be too strict given that Jadzia had once again worked her way up behind him – and Jake seemed to take that as a sign that it was alright for him to continue his gratuitous affections. Within seconds, a hand had caught Nog on the shoulder and pulled him closer, Jake leaning down until he was bent nearly in half to grab his lips in a kiss.

It was almost as if they were challenging him to say something again, but before he got a chance, Jadzia reached a hand up to catch Worf’s arm. In a moment, he too was spun around, a hand wrapping up around the back of his neck to tug him down into a long goodbye kiss of her own. All before he could even think to order Nog to move along.

He’d complain, but it would do no good. And truth be told, he didn’t actually want her to stop either.

His own hands dropped to rest on either side of Jadzia’s waist by the time she released him, curled into a loose grip. She glanced past him to ensure that Nog and Jake had gotten the time to finish their own goodbyes. “Try not to be too hard on him, Worf. This isn’t the Rotarran.”

“I know that,” Worf responded under his breath, “but it doesn’t mean—“

She reached up to lay a finger gingerly over his lips, silencing him. “Just try to be nice.” When he didn’t respond for a moment, the finger poked at him again. “Alright?”

Worf sighed. “Very well. I won’t be harsh, but that doesn’t mean I am just going to make things easy on him. This is still Starfleet training; he needs to take it seriously.”

“Trust me, I don’t think you need to worry about Nog not taking it seriously.” She craned her neck to look over his shoulder. “In fact, I think if he stands at attention any longer, he might actually sprain something.” Another kiss, this one brief, not just an excuse to let the two teens behind them have their moment together. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

This time it was Worf that lingered a few seconds longer than necessary, hands still resting at her sides before he nodded. His hands dropped and he turned sharply, gesturing for Nog to follow him.

Jake had apparently received his fill of goodbyes, because immediately the sounds of Nog’s hurried strides came after him. The Ferengi easily had to take two steps to every one of his, to make up the difference in their heights, but he managed to keep up. He lingered only a foot or so behind Worf as they entered the runabouts docking bay.

“We’re taking the Rio Grande,” Nog said after a moment’s silence, as if the lack of speaking made him nervous. Perhaps it did – his uncle could certainly never tolerate a moment’s silence. “Chief O’Brien said he assigned it to us, for luck.” When Worf looked down at him, uncomprehending, Nog started fidgeting a bit. “Because it’s the only one that’s been with the station from the beginning without… never mind.” He went silent again.

Perhaps this would be harder than Jadzia had made it sound. Not even a minute in and Worf had apparently been too harsh on him.

***

Ten minutes of obvious, deathly silence later Worf knew for a fact that he’d been too harsh on Nog. Normally he wouldn’t concern himself with that fact. Starfleet missions were not for socializing or entertainment – and a few days of working in much needed silence sounded perfectly fine to him. If that were all he faced, he’d be glad for it. However… he’d enjoy the quiet assignment much less when he returned home to Jadzia and word got to her that he’d upset the Ferengi. He’d enjoy it even less when Sisko potentially joined in on the disappointment. Or any of the other officers inexplicably invested in Nog not only having a successful career but apparently an entertaining one.

Worf watched Nog sit himself down in the runabout’s seat, small hands passing over the runabout controls like an expert. Their eyes met very briefly and when Worf didn’t begin the procedure to clear the runabout for launch, Nog finally spoke up to begin it himself, not needing clear directions to do so. More confidence than most Cadets were willing to show so soon out of the academy. Worf let him finish before clearing his throat. “You’re doing well,” he said gruffly, and Nog nearly jumped out of his seat at the sudden words.

He hesitated, watched Worf like he was waiting for the catch, for the hidden insult that would follow up the compliment. When none came, he cautiously spoke up. “I’ve been practicing in the holosuites in my off time, Sir.” His voice stayed low but firm. Like he didn’t want to risk sticking up his head enough for it to be bitten off but wouldn’t let himself look meek in front of a superior officer. A balance Worf knew well. “We only covered the basics in the Academy, but the basics aren’t good enough.” He laid in the runabout’s course as he spoke, then turned to the warp controls. “Setting our speed at Warp 1, we should get to the assigned drop point in… a little over twenty-three hours.”

Worf nodded sharply, leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. “Good job, Cadet.” He may have been laying the compliments on too thick at this point but compliments would never get him a cold shoulder from Jadzia. The things he did for his Par’mach’kai. “It will be best to take the latter part of our flight in shifts, to allow us to be rested enough to assist the downed crew.” Nog had turned in his seat, attention fully on Worf now. He wouldn’t have had to for Worf to know that he heard, but the extra attentiveness spoke well for him. Too many cadets only gave half their mind to orders as they were given. “We will both stay alert for the first ten hours, then you rest first, eight hours. I will take the remaining five.” Uneven perhaps, but Worf had little need for the extra sleep. He’d gone far longer without rest on multiple occasions. Nog would likely need it more than he would.

Nog nodded, though an odd expression lingered. “Understood, Sir.” A moment’s pause. “I don’t need to rest that long if you don’t though.” He straightened up a bit in his seat. “I’ll be fine on five too.” His jaw set stubbornly before Worf could even respond, like he was used to pushback. A Ferengi so ready to argue without budging still confused him.

“There is no need to try to impress me on this matter,” Worf replied simply. “Your performance on the assignment is more important than your ability to go without sleep.” He kept his tone deliberately even this time, actually making the effort not to scare the boy into silence again. If it happened a second time he may not be able to turn it around and he would hear about it when they got back.

And for once… well after Nog’s attentive listening, he had the lingering feeling that he may actually feel bad if he were to hurt his feelings again. Not a familiar feeling or one he was particularly fond of, but it was there nevertheless.

When Nog looked ready to offer again, Worf gave him a sideway’s glance. “An officer that does not sleep is not an effective officer.” Nog’s mouth closed again and he fidgeted in his seat. “Remember that.”

“…Sir, you’re not really one to talk when you only give yourself five hours after eighteen hours of duty.”

Worf didn’t actually have a decent argument against that. Not one that didn’t ultimately come down to simply pulling rank to avoid explaining himself. So that’s what he did. “I will take five hours. You will take eight, what you do with it is your decision.” That was going to be that. He certainly hadn’t left room for argument and as predicted, Nog simply settled back down in his seat. His face, however, did not look like that of someone who lost an argument. No. No he just looked like someone whose point was now proven. Worf stared straight ahead and tried his best to ignore it.

At least the ten hour shift with Nog at his side passed quicker than Worf ever thought it would. He spoke up from time to time of course, thankfully only to ask questions related to the runabout as opposed to Worf’s sleeping habits, but otherwise remained quiet, focused on his tasks. They were tasks he didn’t even have to be told to do every step of the way, even. That alone put him years ahead of most cadets fresh from the Academy who had to be ordered to take their every breath.

The ten hour mark drew near uneventfully, the Rio Grande never wavering from its set in course, nothing on the long range scanners. Worf cleared his throat to get Nog’s attention, surprised when he again got it in a second. He’d have thought that the long hours of nothing would have lulled him into complacency. Another assumption swept aside.

“You’ll find the crew quarters towards the back of the runabout. Replicators are further back.” Cadets rarely interacted with anything but simulations in training; Nog likely had never explored a real runabout before this. Hopefully he wouldn’t be as prone to complaining about the quality of the quarters as his uncle had been. An unfair thought perhaps, Nog had done little to behave like Quark so far in the trip, but the comparisons had come to his mind automatically, however unfair they may have been. “They are small,” he said, heading off the potential for complaint before it even had the chance to take root. “You will have to deal with it.”

He expected Nog to move along then, as most would do, but for an awkwardly long moment nobody moved. Worf glanced over to him. Perhaps he’d been wrong to assume that the boy was able to perform everything without explicit order. He was still inexperienced after all. Maybe he simply needed permission to actually leave the cockpit. “You may go now.” Still Nog didn’t move. Worf let out a short, irritated sigh. “Cadet. I am not going to repeat the argument about your sleeping shift. You will take eight hours, now go.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Sir, I’d like to take them up here.” When Worf’s stare showed no sign of wavering, Nog fidgeted in his seat. “I’ll sleep, I’m not arguing that!” he continued. “I just… want to be where I can help if it’s needed. You know, wake up and get right to the controls.”

“We are on an arranged course with no indication of future difficulty. Even if something were to happen, the crew quarters are less than fifty feet from the cockpit.” Worf turned his seat around so that he faced Nog, his arms crossed over his chest. Nog didn’t even shrink away from him. “If this is another attempt at impressing me, I assure you that it is not neces—“

“It’s not that,” Nog said, only to wince immediately as he realized he’d inadvertently cut off a superior officer. He waited for a rebuke that never came, only continuing when he realized that Worf was not about to shout at him. “It’s…” He raised a hand to gesture ineffectively before letting it fall back down to rest on the arm of his seat. “Fine. It’s not that I want to be closer to the controls. It’s that… after the Academy it’s easier for me to sleep in a chair than in a bed is all.”

If that was meant to clarify things, it didn’t work. Worf narrowed his eyes, taking his time chewing over the words as if that would make them become clearer somehow. No amount of thought seemed ready to turn that sentence into something approaching reasonable. “As far as I am aware, the Academy still has plenty of beds for its students. There is no reason why you would need to be used to sleeping in a chair.”

Nog let out an uncomfortable noise when he realized his explanation had been anything but useful. “It’s more complicated than that.” His hand had gone from simply resting on the arm of his seat to curling up until his fingers were positioned in an almost painful looking claw. They clutched at the end of the armrest, sharp nails tapping at the metal. “I was the only Ferengi there, the only Ferengi that ever went there. The other students weren’t always happy about that. They weren’t very welcoming sometimes.” He paused again, frowning when yet again that had failed to fully explain it. “You were the only Klingon there when you went through it. You know how it can be, don’t you?”

“I know that others are not always glad to have my kind around. None of that affected my ability to sleep in a bed.” There was far more here than Nog was actually willing to say and Worf intended to actually get an explanation by the end of this.

“Well…” Nog sighed and the drumming of his fingers stopped, though the joints in no way relaxed. “Maybe they didn’t bother you as much because you were a Klingon. People are scared of Klingons.” His gaze swept Worf up and down. “You could have actually hurt them if you wanted to. Ferengi are easy targets in comparison.”

Sensible, though none of this had come close to explaining why it all boiled down into Nog sleeping in a chair. When the boy quieted again, Worf let him, sitting back and thinking the information over. Ferengi were easy targets. He supposed sleeping in the barracks wouldn’t be easy then, if people were so interested and willing to make his time there difficult. No one would have dared try that on Worf. He wouldn’t have attacked them, couldn’t if he wanted any chance of being accepted into Starfleet. But they hadn’t known that.

“You were not allowed to sleep,” he said after a moment’s silent thought.

Nog shook his head. “They had these… whistles, the humans use them for dogs, someone had one, I don’t even know why. Maybe they got it out of the replicator just to bother me. But humans can’t hear them, Ferengi can.” His eyes fell to the floor. “So since they thought it was funny to wake me up in the middle of the night, they kept doing it. It was easier to just find somewhere else to sleep and hope that they’d get bored. I had to do something. If my grades weren’t as high as I kept them I don’t think that the instructors ever would have passed me.”

That part Worf knew well. As the first of any species, he had always been expected to prove himself above and beyond any other student. A bias many instructors likely didn’t even realize they had, but that didn’t take away the fact that it existed. Still, no instructor should have been willing to allow active bullying to go on. “You never reported this behavior?”

“It wouldn’t have helped.” Nog said it with such conviction that Worf didn’t doubt for a moment that he fully believed it. “Even if they tried to do something about it, it wouldn’t have stopped anyone. If I was unlucky, it might have gotten worse. I didn’t need them to find even more ways to keep me up all the time.”

“So you simply allowed it to continue?”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as accusatory as it did, though that made no difference. Nog looked up at him like he’d been smacked anyway. “I tried to avoid them, but no. I didn’t do anything that would have brought them down on me harder. I had to do what would get me through the Academy, not what I would have liked to.”

Understandable, even if it went against everything that Worf believed in for himself. A Klingon would never have allowed this to continue. But then, Nog was not a Klingon. He wasn’t a typical Ferengi either, Worf was quickly finding that out, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t react like one when pushed. Move along with the flow of things to get ahead.

Worf expected to find that thought distasteful. He did, but not for the reason he expected. Little of the disgust came in response to Nog’s passivity in the matter – though a part of him still shouted that there had to have been a better way to stop this, he knew well enough that it would not help to voice that thought. No, most of the disgust went to those that would take advantage of Nog’s passivity, pushed at him because they knew there could be no resistance. Because they didn’t fear the Ferengi like they did the Klingons.

Cowards.

“So that is why you were sent back to Deep Space Nine for your field training.” A normal cadet would be sent into an entirely different environment, somewhere as far away from their home territory as Starfleet could find. Cadets couldn’t learn to adjust to new situations if they were never put in them. Nog’s placement at his home station was… out of the ordinary to say the least. The average cadet would never be placed home. Worf had assumed it to be another part of Sisko’s special interest in the boy’s career. Perhaps it had less to do with favoritism than he’d originally assumed.

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Nog admitted. His voice had lowered, nearly to a mumble. Worf doubted he’d ever actually spoken of this to someone before. “My first assignment was on Earth. No one wanted me there though and a month later I was being reassigned to DS9. My uncle won’t admit to it, but I think he started digging into records he wasn’t supposed to be in.”

It did sound like Quark. No one who had seen him with his nephew for more than a minute would think that he’d ever let such abuse continue. He may not have approved of Nog’s Starfleet career, something he would gladly say to anyone that stood still for more than a few seconds, but no one would be allowed to harm his prospects. And if Quark had taken it to Sisko… yes, it did make sense.

Silence stretched out between them, Nog’s gaze not lifting from the floor, Worf’s not wavering from him. “Cadet.” His eyes flicked up, locked onto Worf’s again. Something about the way he held eye contact so stubbornly seemed even braver than it had before. Despite those wanting to push him down and keep him there, he still insisted on standing up. “You can rest now. Wherever you decide is best.”

Nog nodded once, pulled his legs up into the chair. At his size, it was easy to curl up into a ball on his side, facing away from Worf. Mere moments passed before his breathing seemed to ease into the slow rhythm of sleep. Worf assumed he was faking it, to some degree, trying to avoid further awkward admissions, perhaps, but he let it slide. Nog had earned the rest by this point.

***

Nog either slept the full eight hours or did a remarkable job pretending to. Worf suspected the latter, as he woke up surprisingly quickly when it came time for his shift. Like someone sitting with their eyes closed and waiting for their moment to spring into action rather than someone truly asleep. Worf let it pass without comment. The boy didn’t need to make anymore painful confessions tonight for one. For another, despite his claims otherwise, eighteen hours of duty was enough to leave any man tired. Even a Klingon.

As Nog settled himself back at the controls, Worf leaned back in his seat. Like Nog, he had no intention of going to the crew quarters for his rest. Though unlike him, his reasons truly were that he needed to be in close reach of the controls. The trip had been peaceful so far, but any resistance could be more than a cadet was ready to handle. Worf needed to be ready, in case he was needed.

He wouldn’t know how good a decision that was for nearly two hours.

***

A high, nervous noise pulled him out of sleep, not quite a full Ferengi scream but certainly a noise of distress. His eyes snapped open, scanned the cockpit. Nog was no longer in his seat and that got Worf out of his chair in an instant. Exhausted or not, he put his full attention towards finding Nog, eyes scanning, ears listening. The door to the back was open – engineering, that would have to be where Nog was.

Before Worf could call out his name, Nog appeared in the doorway, still making that constant noise. “Something’s wrong with the warp drive,” he said, the tone layering into his voice to make it waver with nerves and fear rather than actually stopping. He burst past, straight to the controls, checking everything before slamming a hand against it with an agitated hiss through his teeth. “It’s still running, but we’re only at half impulse now. We’re slowing down and I don’t think I can fix it up here.”

Warp drive issue. That could range from an irritant that would extend their trip by days to something that would end their assignment. Explosively. Worf was no engineer, but he knew the basics of how to respond. He put a hand on Nog’s shoulder, used it to gently shove him down into the seat. Restraining his strength was the hardest part of the movement, but he managed. “Engage the scanners, we’ll find a planet we can reach and fix it there.”

When he got back, he would have to apologize to Sisko. To think he’d expected this to be a boring trip.


	2. Expanding Mission Parameters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly self betaed this time, apologies for any grammar or spelling errors! Things are starting to go even worse for our unlucky pair, hope you enjoy!

Nog did an admirable job of hiding the shaking in his hands. Enough that most probably wouldn't have even noticed it. Only keen eyes let Worf see the trembling out of the corner of his eye, though he didn't remark on it. Nog wasn't panicking, as he might have expected out of any other cadet. Swallowing down his panic and setting himself to his work despite his fear was, in the end, more impressive than any fool that wasn't at all afraid to begin with. When he spoke, Nog's voice stayed forcefully firm, his nerves not allowed to come to the surface. If Worf hadn't already seen his fear, he may not have realized it was even there. "There's not a lot of options, Sir. Not habitable ones, anyway."

Broaden your search, as far as the long-range scanners will allow. We do not need to concern ourselves with long-term habitability, as long as we can complete our repairs safely, it will do."

Nog nodded sharply in response. His shaking had begun to spread, from his hands up into the rest of his body, but it at least didn't affect his speed at following orders. Another half a minute and he piped up again. "There's an L-Class planet just barely in our range. The atmosphere is breathable, probably not healthy to camp out in for a few days, but breathable. If we push the warp drive to its limits, we can make it there. It'll be busted when we land, but we'll make it."

Not ideal, but very likely to be their only option - Worf didn't dwell on it for long, making his decision in a moment. "Set our course for the L-Class, once you have that laid in, I can engage the warp drive." He wished he could say it would be certain to work, but when it came to failing equipment, all he could do was minimize their chances for error. Worf's entire body tensed as he waited, spine painfully straight while Nog worked. This was the worst part of things, waiting for the opportunity to take action. In a fight, Worf could handle anything. Waiting though... waiting was helplessness. Klingons didn't handle helplessness well, Worf least of them all.

Despite Worf's attempts to hide his tension, Nog seemed to grow more agitated by the second. The minute that ticked by as Nog worked felt more like an hour, tension building until Worf could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage - he almost wondered if Ferengi ears could hear it. It would have explained how Nog could seemingly no longer contain his nerves at least.

This time, when Nog spoke, the tremble in his body showed in his voice. "Course set. We're prepared to engage the warp drive. Judging from the power output... Warp three is as high as we can set it while actually moving at warp speed." Nog swallowed, steadied himself. "Any lower and we won't make it in time. Any higher and the warp drive will burn out on us before we can get close enough to land." Or it would simply explode. That part went unsaid, but Worf knew it to be a likely possibility. Still, Nog was clearly worked up enough without that information, so Worf didn't fill it in for him.

In that moment, as Nog sat back and the time for action transferred to Worf, all the tension left his body at once. Finally. The waiting was over. "Setting speed to warp three." He glanced briefly over to Nog. "Stay in your seat, Cadet. This will not be an easy ride."

Nog made a noise that wasn't quite a protest. It wasn't quite anything besides a nervous exclamation really, but at least he listened and stayed in his seat. A good thing too, warp was exactly as rough on the runabout as Worf had predicted. The warp drive's strain reverberated through the runabout. Again Nog's nails started to dig into the arms of his seat, his teeth gritting together almost audibly with each of the Rio Grande's tosses and turns.

He'd expected their flight pattern to stabilize as they approached the planet and slowly dropped out of warp, but the damage was long since done. It even got worse somehow, to the point that the runabout's landing nearly sent Nog out of his seat and onto the floor with how harshly the floor beneath them jerked.

Worf took in two deep breaths, exhaled in long sighs through his nose until his racing heart calmed itself. "Cadet?" A stirring sounded from the seat beside him. Nog was conscious at least. "Are you alright?"

"I think so." Nog peeled his fingers from the chair bit by bit, slowly brought them up to the controls in front of him. A few seconds investigation and he mumbled, "Analyzing the environment now. No signs of animal life, just plants. The air's breathable for the short-term, but it's thick, temperatures are high. If we don't take plenty of breaks while we do the repairs, we'll probably overheat, but we can get it done in maybe half a day."

"Can you contact Starfleet?"

Another few seconds and Nog muttered a curse that Worf's translator didn't quite catch. "Negative. The signal's not getting through. Something in the atmosphere seems to be blocking it. Our communicators should work, but anything off planet..." His hands dropped back down into his lap, head falling back against the seat. Each breath was slower than the last as he calmed himself, not as quickly as Worf did but faster than he would have expected.

No communication with Starfleet meant that they wouldn't be able to report their delay until they were en-route again. Half a day was long enough for worry when they failed to report on schedule but not so long that they would need to send a search party out. He stood. "Get up Cadet. We have a lot of work ahead of us."

***

High temperatures turned out to be a massive understatement. Once repairs got underway, that fact made itself perfectly, painfully clear. The planet's air was thick enough to choke, its sun hot enough to leave a burn in less than half an hour. Nog had found that out the hard way, daring to leave the runabout to get a sense of their surroundings before the hot sun had forced him back inside. Even the brief time outside had left burns on any exposed skin, forcing him to break long enough to treat himself before he could begin repair work again.

The break was for the better, as the sun heated the runabout's interior far beyond what the climate controls should have allowed. Worf had pulled the Rio Grande close to the edge of a forest thick enough that little sun seemed able to penetrate it, but that provided surprisingly little shade to the runabout beside it. On top of it all, the humidity clung to their skin while they worked and made breathing feel like inhaling water at its worst.

So when Nog slowly stilled at his work, hours into the repair and painting heavily, Worf paid him no mind. He didn't even turn to investigate it as Nog went from the cramped engineering room to the cockpit, assuming him to be in pursuit of a replicator. It wouldn't be the first break for either of them and pushing past their limits would have only delayed them further.

Nog's return in less than a minute, though - not nearly long enough for him to have rested - that made Worf pause to look at him. "Cadet, what are you-"

"I heard something."  Nog chewed at his lip a moment, sharp teeth digging into the skin nearly hard enough to puncture it. He lingered in the doorway, head tilted very slightly towards the cockpit. His hand tensed around the scanner he'd taken with him. "There's something moving out there. In the forest I mean. I tried to see if I could get a reading off of it, but it's not picking anything up."

For a moment, Worf waited silently for him to continue, for the significance of this to come out. Ferengi heard many things, after all, not all of them cause for panic. The truth of it came back to him slowly - the heat of this planet must have dulled his thoughts - but when it hit him he couldn't stifle the small growl that came out. Their sensors had picked up no animal life on this planet. Nog shouldn't have been able to hear anything out there.

Worf reacted all at once, almost entirely on instinct. He reached through the small space for Nog's shoulder, tension almost making the movement too rough. A simple pull brought Nog back into engineering at the same time as Worf stepped forward to place himself in the doorway instead. He'd hardly even realized he was moving to put himself between Nog and the only potential entrances to the runabout until he'd already done it.

The both stood silent, Worf listening for anything he could pick up though he had no true hope of reaching anywhere close to Ferengi hearing. "...What did you hear out there, exactly?"

A brief pause, Nog clearly was struggling to listen over the drone of the Rio Grande's engine. "I'm not sure. Whatever it was though, it's not close enough to hear what it’s doing or how big it is. I just know there's something out there."  He glanced up with a nervous, almost hopeful smile. "I don't suppose it's too likely that plants move on this planet?"

Worf didn't dignify that with an attempt at a real answer. He just let out a short huff, shaking his head. "Stay here. I will scout the area to see if there is anything we need to be concerned about." He didn't doubt that Nog had heard something. What it was though, that was another concern entirely. He tried not to let it show on his face, but with no animal life, there was no comforting reason for there to be anything else out there. This planet had no resources to speak of, no reason for someone else to have landed on it - it wasn't even suitable for settlement. All of the options for what it could be were nothing appealing. "Do not leave the runabout or use your communicator unless you have to. There is no way to tell what we are dealing with here."

Nog nodded. "And what about our repairs, Sir?"

As much as he would have liked to allow Nog to continue them, Worf knew that there was much more to worry about then there had been only moments ago. "Wait until I return. I want you to keep listening for anyone approaching, it is better that you do not distract yourself."

Another nod and Worf turned his attention to the task in front of him. One step outside the Rio Grande made air close around him like water over his head, suffocating. Worf had to pull every bit of his willpower to ignore it. He had a job to do.

***

If whatever was out there didn’t kill them, Nog was pretty sure this planet would do a fine job of it all on its own. The air had felt oppressive enough while they worked, now it felt almost suffocating, clinging to him like a solid object. As if he wasn’t uncomfortable enough already.

Nog leaned his back against the wall, the metal only feeling cool against his skin because of how horribly hot the air was. He could still feel the sweat sticking his uniform to his back, making him uncomfortably aware of the fabric against his skin, putting him on edge. Unsure of how else to relax himself, he groped for his phaser, clutched it in one hand. Whatever enemy was out there, he needed to feel like he had at least some defense against it.

He could hear Worf outside for a solid five minutes, until he made his way so deep into the forest that even straining to hear wasn’t enough to catch sound of him. It left Nog alone with his own body, the rapidly increasing beat of his heart, his short breaths, and the beginnings of a panic starting to scream from the back of his skull.

It took everything in him to stomp down on that before it could start forming a lump in his throat instead. Ferengi were prone to verbal panic. That was well known and thoroughly mocked by people who had never had to deal with the evolutionary leftovers of being a prey species. Yet another aspect of being taken seriously, Nog had to be certain he never let his fear show.

 Even with every instinct screaming at him to let out a warning noise, he had to keep a handle on the urge. Especially with Commander Worf due back at any time, it was bad enough that he’d heard Nog starting to panic during their emergency landing. He may not have said anything about it at the time, but Nog knew he’d heard it. Probably stored it away to talk to him about in the future or something – or report it back to Captain Sisko, if he was unlucky. This was a training exercise after all. Of course reports on his performance were going to be made. And if he did it again, here, when they had a job to do… well he’d never get Worf’s respect that much was for certain. Possibly not anyone else’s either. As if he didn’t have enough to work against already in that department.

Nog took in a deep breath, forcefully slow, and let it out the same way. It wouldn’t calm him down precisely, there was almost no way to do that once the panic started really building, but it would ward it off just enough for him to hold his composure. At this point it was all he could ask for really.

Between the slow, rhythmic breathing and the sound of his own heart against his ribs it was a miracle he was able to listen for what was going on outside at all. The sound of movement outside again made him hold his breath entirely, his fingers curling tightly around his phaser as he listened to it. Footsteps, that much came through clearly this time. He was hearing footsteps through the forest. Their pace matched Worf’s, slow and careful – a scouting pace. He would almost think this was Worf, honestly, the weights matched, the movements matched.

Worf hadn’t had reinforcements though.

His grip on his phaser faltered, sweat from heat and nerves serving to make the metal slick and difficult to hold onto. His breathing rhythm dropped into a panicked pace all over again, beyond what he could even try to control. He’d known something was out there, sure, he’d known they were potentially in trouble. Somehow none of that had followed through into expecting to actually have potential hostiles moving in on him though.

Nog swallowed, closed his eyes and for a moment just listened. He could hear three distinct patterns, one closer than the other two. Three unknowns then, fanned out from each other a small distance. They didn’t walk like they had a singular target, they probably weren’t coming for the runabout specifically then. They probably didn’t even know about it. A small comfort – they didn’t need to be targeting the runabout to be able to find it. And when they did it would just be Nog alone against three… who even knew what he might be facing three of.

Still, even as that thought made his stomach turn into stone, he lingered there, unmoving, practically paralyzed as the scouts came closer. Closer. They weren’t going to turn off to another direction. That was starting to sink in now. Deep seated instincts telling him to freeze and hope not to be seen fought with the knowledge that he had to move, that screaming panic started working its way up again.

The sound of movement near the tree line was what finally startled him into motion.

Nog didn’t really know where he was going. He simply knew that lingering on the runabout wasn’t an option anymore. His body ran on pure adrenaline when he bolted for one of the exits on the opposite side of the Rio Grande, where if they approached from the forest they wouldn’t be able to see him. For once his slight frame worked in his favor and he dropped to the ground almost silently.

His childhood spent sneaking into places he shouldn’t have been worked for him too. He moved quickly and quietly, his eyes scanning for cover and finding it in another outcropping of the forest, only close enough if he sprinted. Every bit of energy he had went into that burst of speed, closing the distance and ducking into dense foliage. The leaves of the low foliage closed around him within seconds of reaching them.

Just barely in time too.

“There’s something here!”  The shout from the lead scout sounded just as Nog disappeared from sight. The voice wasn’t one he knew, unsurprisingly, but the tones behind it felt familiar. He couldn’t identify the species immediately, but the sound of it still brought a deep dread to him, made him tense. He turned around as slowly and quietly as he could. They likely didn’t have Ferengi ears, but caution never hurt. Brushing just one of the huge leaves that served as his cover aside, he peered out at the Rio Grande through the small gap.

Immediately his terror made sense when a Jem’Hadar circled around the base of the runabout, phaser rifled aimed and ready.

Nog jerked back without meaning to make the movement, his back hitting the solid bark of a tree behind him. He bit down on his own tongue until he could swear he tasted blood to muffle the need to let out a warning screech. Being seen now would mean being dead. If they found him they’d have no reason to spare him, unless it was to try and figure out who else was with him and where they went. Those few minutes of extra life probably didn’t count.

And the Jem’Hadar would figure out that he was nearby. Worf had done nothing to hide their presence; there’d hardly been a need to on a supposedly unoccupied planet. The Jem’Hadar surrounded the Rio Grande now, searching it for signs of life before actually entering. They would see that it had only just been vacated. Maybe they could even tell that it had happened only moments before.

Nog turned and ran.

***

The forest was even denser than it had looked from the outside. True to their earlier guess, none of the planet’s harsh sunlight reached down this far, the canopy above ensured that. The humidity lingered here even more than before though, to the point that the darkness started to feel like a physical object to be pushed through. Ferengi eyes weren’t designed to operate in low light – back when the station had been Terok Nor and held to Cardassian standards, Nog hadn’t been able to see much of the time, outside of the relatively well lit bar. That was practically bright in comparison to what he dealt with now.

His hands reached out in front of him with every step to ensure that he avoided running into anything; he’d needed to slow himself down to little faster than a jog to duck through everything successfully. It wasn’t helping his heart rate.

Behind him he heard… nothing, no sounds of pursuit, no animal life, and though he hadn’t expected to hear anything the silence had never felt quite so oppressive before. It closed in around him the same as the darkness and the heat, activated that part of him that still ached to scream for help. When he came to a stop, one hand out to rest on a tree, ground himself in the dim light, that feeling of being buried only swelled up. It would almost feel safer, like a cocoon of sorts, if he could just see anything.

The silence still stretched behind him, only interrupted by his own heartbeat, but Nog stood for longer than was probably necessary just to make complete sure that a Jem’Hadar wouldn’t burst out on top of him.

He breathed in slowly, out again, regulated his breath. He needed his voice to be steady for this. He brought a hand up to his badge. “Commander Worf?”

That anxiety screaming at the back of his head told him there wouldn’t be a response. If there were three scouts on top of him alone, who knew how many others were out in the forest. Worf could have run into another scouting party, or worse, their encampment. That thought twisted up into him, through every nerve in his body, the thought that he might be alone out there – that he could die out here.

The communicator crackling to life felt like a lifetime later and all of his breath left him in one relieved sigh. There was interference, probably whatever was in the atmosphere that had stopped their messages to Deep Space Nine were affecting things at ground level too, but at least he had a response. “Report.”  Worf came through clipped, tense; he was still the best thing Nog had heard all day. Still, he was supposed to maintain radio silence except in absolute emergencies. Worf had to know that something was wrong because of the fact Nog had contacted him at all.

Nog sent a nervous glance around him, though he couldn’t see anything. Even without the sound of pursuit, the darkness made it feel like something could sneak up on him at any time. Just jump out of the shadows and grab him, snap his neck – this was the first time he thought he understood just where that evolutionary tendency towards panicking came from. This must have been what it felt like to be hunted.

It couldn’t hurt to be quiet. Just in case. His voice dropped down several levels in volume when he replied, “You can’t go back to the runabout. Jem’Hadar showed up there, three of them. I had to run, I don’t think they saw me but they’ll know we’re here now. I’m sure they’ll be looking for us.”

For a long moment there was no response. Understandable, really, whatever Worf had likely expected to hear, Nog was almost certain it wasn’t that. He almost couldn’t be completely convinced of what he’d seen himself. Jem’Hadar showing up on the one unoccupied planet they’d been forced to land on was a new breed of bad luck. Like the universe playing a filthy trick on them and laughing.

Finally though, Worf responded. His tones stayed low and stern, the voice of a true commander. “Send me your coordinates. I will come to you, but if you hear any pursuit, leave, immediately. I would rather have to search for you than have the Jem’Hadar find you.”

The thought of that made his stomach twist up again, but instead of letting any reaction show, Nog simply responded, “Understood, Sir.”

The communicator went painfully silent again. Nog shifted, stepped back until he found a tree to rest against. This time the solid mass truly did feel comforting instead of restrictive. Nothing could sneak up on him from behind, which left… only the front to worry about. Nog chewed at his already abused lower lip, wrapped his arms around himself to provide a gentle, reassuring pressure, and waited.


	3. Measuring the Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I've been working on my portfolio and haven't had much inspiration but I FINALLY SAT DOWN AND GOT THIS DONE. Hope you enjoy and thank you for all the comments I've gotten so far! Again self betaed on very little sleep so apologies for any mistakes.

Nog having set out in the opposite direction of Worf’s path had put a good hour’s travel between the two of them.  Not purely from distance either, the thick foliage seemed to triple travel time at the very least – he could have barreled through and halved the time, but that could easily alert the Jem’Hadar to their presence.  That left the option to pick gingerly through the forest, not stirring the plant life enough to make noise.  It made the journey to Nog’s coordinates feel like the longest trip in his life.

The boy could easily be dead when he got there.  Or missing again, forced to escape before the Jem’Hadar found him.  Both possibilities sat heavy in the back of his mind, along with the knowledge that, whatever the boy’s fate, he would be the one responsible for it.  Worf had been sent along as the leader, the mentor to keep Nog safe.  Any failure was his own.

And if he found a body at the end of this, he would have failed more than he knew what to do with.

His hands curled into fists at the thought of that, crunching a thick leaf in the palm of his hand.  Worf stilled his breathing, listened for any sound.  Nog’s coordinates were coming up fast, the lack of sound was… concerning to say the least.  Perhaps Nog simply had a talent at remaining still and hidden.  He moved another branch to the side.

A phaser flung from the leaves, tiny body following it to pitch forward, jabbing the weapon against Worf’s chest.  On instinct, he swept a hand down, wrapped tight around the hand holding it and pulling up.

Nog yelped in his grip, though he bit it down before it got loud enough to risk discovery.  He looked up, eyes wide as he realized who had been on the other end of his silent threat.  “Commander, I… I’m sorry.  I heard you coming, but I couldn’t be sure who you were until I saw you.”

Worf let him go and he fell the inch between his feet and the ground, bringing his hand to his chest and rubbing at the wrist with careful fingers.   “Do not apologize.”  Worf huffed a sigh through his noise.  “Your caution is appropriate, given the circumstances.”

Silence lingered an uncomfortable moment before he carefully continued, “Are you injured?”

Before answering, Nog flexed his fingers, spread them out, twisted his wrist to test the movement.  “I don’t think so, just surprised.  I’ll be fine.”

“Good.  Then to the point of things, what else have you heard in the area, besides myself?”

A shake of the head as Nog slipped the phaser back onto his belt. “Nothing, Sir.  The Jem’Hadar are searching for us, I’m sure of it, but they haven’t come in this direction.”

“How many were in the scouting team?”  Whatever number that was could be all they had to deal with or an advance team of many more.  He deeply hoped for the former.  Too many Jem’Hadar and even his own chances of being able to take them on narrowed.  Significantly.

As if even a small group wouldn’t be trouble enough.

Nog paused a moment before his response, potentially making sure fear didn’t increase the number in his memory.  “Three at the Rio Grande.  If there were more waiting in the forest I didn’t hear them.  When I left they were infiltrating the runabout… I don’t know what they’d gain from it besides parts.”  He frowned.

So possibly they would need to retrieve their supplies as well.  Fix the Rio Grande under potential Jem’Hadar surveillance, potentially steal back the supplies to accomplish that, escape undetected… he didn’t like the odds that was leaving him with.  “Three is unlikely to be the entire force, we’ll want to know how many more may be hidden before we plan our next move.”

And there was the problem.  There was no simple way to find out just what they were dealing with.  Either a force they could avoid or fight or a force that could take them down without a chance to resist.  And now that the Jem’Hadar knew where the Rio Grande was and could keep them from repairs, only one of those had a true hope for escape from this planet.

He’d found Nog alive.  But there was no small chance that neither of them would stay that way.

***

“You are sure that you can make this work?  And it will not reveal our location?”

Nog shrugged in response from where he knelt down over his communicator, not glancing up from his work.  Not reassuring, honestly, and the thought that this would potentially lead the enemy right to them made his eye twitch at the corner.  If he had any better ideas, he would have stopped Nog right where he was. 

But he didn’t.  So he let the boy work.

Worf knelt beside him to get a better look at what Nog was doing.  The Cadet stared down, stare focused, his hands jerked in quick movements only interrupted by long pauses where he seemed to stare off into the distance.  The pauses seemed like he was trying to remember something, the steps of some ritual taught to him long ago.  Worf cleared his throat to briefly catch his attention.  “Did you learn this from Chief O’Brien?”

“No.  My father.”  Of course.  Rom had a knack for building things that should have no chance of actually functioning but managed to.  “Ever since Constable Odo started tapping the bar’s communications, Uncle wanted a way to make sure he could learn how to tap Odo’s right back.”  His already wrinkled nose twisted up a little bit more and he leveled a stare at the mess in front of him.  “Of course, when Father showed me how to make these listening devices, he had better equipment to do it with.  I may need to use your communicator too.”

Worf deftly unhooked it, though he held it in the palm of his hand rather than simply hand it over to Nog.  “I am not sure if it is wise to sacrifice our only way of contacting each other.”  They had separated once, after all, and the possibility of it happening again lingered at the back of his mind.  The leader had no choice but to think of things like that, especially with their chances of survival looking slimmer by the hour. 

Though if they were likely to die anyway, he supposed they might as well do all they could to prevent it.  Worf carefully dropped the badge into Nog’s outstretched hand.

Immediately he went back to work, opening the communicator carefully with sharp, pointed fingernails.  For not having any tools dedicated to this sort of thing, Nog was doing an admirable job working with small tech.  “I mean, I’m not sure that we should split up again anyway, not unless we know exactly where we’re going to meet.  Especially since they might have the tech to tap into our communications just like we’re trying to do theirs.  And whatever they have definitely works better than what this wi—“  He silenced suddenly, as if realizing all at once that he was speaking as if he had some sort of expert opinion on the matter. 

Overall, it was a good thing for him to speak his mind.  A true warrior needed to be able to think for himself.  Someone who could only mindlessly follow orders was a soldier that would die before his time.  If Nog could actually voice his opinion, he was more likely to survive.

Perhaps he realized it too.  Rather than apologize, Nog simply quieted, his focus going back to the work under his hands.  “Almost…”  A tiny tongue stuck out between sharp teeth.  “Okay… got things mostly hooked up.  I just need to figure out how to fuse the… got it.”  He pulled his phaser from his belt again, turning it to the lowest setting.

Nog looked up at Worf from the corner of his eye.  “This is either going to finish the connection or blow the whole thing up.  You might want to not be in range when I do this.”  Worf didn’t move and Nog didn’t push it.  He simply let out a nervous sigh before hesitantly positioning the phaser so that the beam would only just brush a portion of the contraption.  “…Here goes then.”

He didn’t immediately fire the phaser.  That took a moment’s more consideration before he finally closed his eyes and activated it.  Only when shrapnel failed to fly into either of their throats did he hesitantly peer out again.

Still, while managing not to kill them was perhaps worthy of praise, there was still the fact that the radio wasn’t _doing_ anything.  Worf waited, the silence stretching out a moment before he replied, “Well?”

Nog startled, as if he hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on around him.  “Sorry, just… really glad that didn’t go as badly as it probably could have.  That was the only dangerous part, I think anyway, now the way to make it actually work is to do this.”  He reached a sharp claw back into the delicate inner workings, hooked around a wire.  One little tug and the makeshift radio came to life under his hands.

The feed barely came through under static, garbled words barely even sounding like language at all, let alone anything that could be deciphered.  Nog sat straight and attentive though, like he was trying to pick the words out from underneath the static, but even his Ferengi ears apparently weren’t enough to pull them out intelligibly, if the way his mouth twisted into a little frown was any indication.  He sat back on his heels, leveling an irritable glare at the thing.

His hands moved again, barely visible as he made miniscule adjustments.  Only the static slowly rising and falling in volume marked that Nog was even doing anything at all.  Worf leaned in too, his teeth gritting faintly as he strained to make out anything.  An occasional syllable made it through, nothing that made sense though.  He glanced to Nog.  “Can you make out anything in that?”

A faint shake of his head.  “Not really.  Some things.  They’re talking about something with warp, but that doesn’t tell me what exactly it is.”  The fact that even a word of it had come through was admittedly impressive.  Worf hadn’t even heard that much.  “Warp drive,” Nog continued after a moment.  “They’re saying something about an issue with the warp drive, just like we had.  That’s… odd though, isn’t it?”  He glanced up at Worf for confirmation.  “Two ships brought down on the same planet with identical issues?”

“It is odd.  No coincidence, for sure.  You know that is what they said?  Warp drive issues?”

“Sure of it.  I think the Vorta was talking for some of that but it’s hard to tell, I haven’t heard either of them enough to be sure.  But they said something about an energy field in this system affecting the warp drive.”

“Energy field?”  That really did seem like the sort of thing someone should have mentioned in the system’s information.  He would have to have a word with records.  And navigation for bringing them through here in the first place.  And anyone else that might have had a hand in this particular oversight.

“Yeah… which means when we manage to fix it we still have to worry about getting out of here before whatever is in that field affects the drive all over again.”

“If we get it fixed.”  That dose of realism made Nog noticeably twitch, but Worf made no move to soothe the harshness of the comment.  It was the truth after all; softening it would do nothing for the situation except put Nog in a false sense of security.  “To do that we will have to deal with the Jem’Hadar.  If they have a downed warp drive as well, they will have likely already raided the supplies on the Rio Grande.”

They would have to get the parts back somehow, which would mean confronting the Jem’Hadar themselves.  All in all, it truly didn’t look promising.

Nog stared at the radio a moment longer, struggling to keep the fear off his face.  “…We could offer to make a deal with them?”  He didn’t even manage to finish his sentence while still sounding confident in the words.  At Worf’s wordless stare, he continued.  “I know, I know it’s not exactly the safest option, but if their warp drive is broken and ours is broken and we have enough parts for both of us to get off this planet safely, any logical species would agree to the terms!  It gets us both out of a bad situation quickly and with no negative effect on either party.”

It was a truly Ferengi line of reasoning really, Quark would have been proud.  Worf resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “A hopeful thought, but the Jem’Hadar are not a logical species.  They would value the death of an enemy over the simplicity of one of your deals.”  He couldn’t avoid sounding dismissive, but at least he hadn’t outright insulted Nog.  “We cannot risk giving them the upper hand by attempting to make a deal with them.”

For a moment, Nog looked like he might argue that.  Just for a moment.  Worf gave him a look that silenced him though.  Thinking for himself was valuable in a soldier, but when it came down to keeping them both alive, Worf couldn’t allow him to risk their lives on a chat with the enemy.  Specifically, he wouldn’t risk Nog’s life.

“Talking is not an option,” Worf stated simply.  “But we can fight.  We just need to know what we are facing.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we scout for their encampment.”

***

With an entire forest to potentially scout, it was not a plan to be undertaken lightly, that was for sure.  They started with retracing their steps back, dangerously close to the Rio Grande – seemingly abandoned now, but they didn’t dare emerge from the forest to board it.  The Jem’Hadar could have left a scout, or any number of detection devices on it.  It wouldn’t be safe until they were neutralized.  It wasn’t the runabout they were there for anyway.

No, instead Worf slowly circled the edge of the forest, eyes focused on minute details of the foliage.  Nearly all of it intact, with no animal life, there was nothing to damage the plants.  Nothing but the Jem’Hadar anyway.  Luckily they were not as dedicated to subtlety as he had been.  Broken foliage marked their entrance back into the forest, one or two broken limbs serving as the only trail that led them deeper along their enemy’s path.

Nog followed at his side, tension and nerves showing in every one of his movements, but he stayed silent.  No noise sounded when he moved, let alone anything verbal – rather he kept his attention entirely focused on his ears and what he heard from around them.  The order had been to signal when he heard their quarry and he was clearly ready to do so the instant he got a chance.

Perhaps Worf should have clarified what sort of signal though.  It would have saved him the spike in his heart rate when Nog’s hand flew out suddenly and grabbed at his arm.  The clawed hand curled into a fist, gathering the fabric of Worf’s uniform up along with it and he froze in place.  He bit his tongue against an instinctive growl and the grip loosened, then slipped away entirely.

Nog shrunk back in his place, perhaps realizing he’d been a touch overly forward with his reaction, but luckily what he’d heard took precedence over the potential awkward moment.  Worf didn’t want to discuss his reaction anymore than Nog did his – jumping when touched was hardly the mark of a Klingon warrior after all. 

As they turned their attention back to the matter at hand, Nog inclined his head briefly to the side, presumably the direction he’d heard the Jem’Hadar.  A sharp turn unmarked by any sort of trail.  Neither of them would have gotten this far alone, that was for certain.

Even now they were twenty minutes away from the encampment.  The forest opened into another clearing, though this one had clearly been made rather than found.  Not neatly either, the Jem’Hadar’s ship had simply landed on several young trees, crushing them below its weight and flattening them to the ground.  It sat at an angle atop the mess.

Lingering at the new tree line, Worf narrowed his eyes against the sun that pierced through now that the canopy was gone.  Below the ship, in the only truly clear space on the ground, was the crew, six Jem’Hadar and a Vorta.  Nog’s ears hadn’t lied to him.  She stood over the Jem’Hadar, watching as they sorted through parts on the ground.  Their bounty from the Rio Grande no doubt.

Still, she clearly had no more engineering skill than the group she was overseeing.  Or at least no one seemed entirely certain of their movements as they worked.  Not a shock perhaps, she was a diplomat and they were warriors.  Jem’Hadar ships seemed to rarely survive long enough to actually require repair.

Six warriors… potentially more on the ship as well.  Too many to be an easy battle, but no matter how stacked it all was against them, those parts were still their ticket off the planet.  Their only tickets.  He glanced at Nog after ensuring that their quarry was too focused on their work to pay particular attention to what was around them. 

“Do you hear anyone besides them?” he said, voice a low, rough whisper.

Nog paused, tipped his head to the side as he listened.  Then he slowly shook his head.  “No, just who we see here.  Seems like a small crew, but some of them could have died in the crash?”  It wasn’t as if the Jem’Hadar bothered with any monuments to their dead.  If the rest of the crew had died, there would be no sign of it other than their reduced numbers.

Another pause as the Vorta spoke up, her face the picture of irritation.  “Our parts aren’t entirely compatible with their ship,” Nog filled in carefully.  “They’re having trouble making it all fit together with their tech.  That’ll buy us some time at least, but not much of it.”

Worf frowned, then pulled back, indicating for Nog to follow.  “We need to get the supplies back,” he said.  “That only leaves us with one option.”  He briefly glanced behind him.  “We will have to take them back.  We fight.”


	4. Taking The Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end here! If I don't get the last chapter up sometime this week, please feel free to smack me, I've already taken way too long on this. We're ramping up to the final confrontation, hope you enjoy!

Nog dutifully trailed after him, light on his feet and near silent as he slipped through the foliage.  If Worf hadn’t known he was there, he wouldn’t have known that he was being followed at all.  Even the rustling of the leaves was minimized enough to be passed off as the wind to the unsuspicious ear.  Stealth was apparently Nog’s strong point, one of surprisingly man.  It would serve him well one of these days.  Assuming, of course, that they actually lived through this.

Worf’s arm jutted out suddenly, the instant that they reached a distance far enough from the Jem’Hadar encampment that he could be certain their voices wouldn’t travel far enough to be heard.  With the whole of the crew focused on hovering over their stolen parts at least they were unlikely to spread out far.  As long as they didn’t give the Jem’Hadar reason to inspect the surroundings again they could make a plan without interference.

For the moment, though, Worf didn’t speak.  Nog’s previous protests still sat at the back of his mind and he left the second of silence open expecting him to pipe up with them again.  He waited for him to give another suggestion of bargaining, dealing, anything but fighting really.  It was the sort of thing he’d come to expect from any other Ferengi, sticking with the same line of reasoning even with it already having been shot down once.

By now he really should have prepared himself for the fact that Nog was no ordinary Ferengi.

The silence hung there in the air until Worf turned sharply, his spine straight and his chin lifted into his typical proud stance, forming the very picture of severity as he thought their situation over.  Nog looked him up and down and then almost immediately mimicked his posture.  Nothing could make him look tall, but at least he managed to look prepared.  Worf had been slow to believe the concept of a brave Ferengi, but now that Nog had shown him so many examples of it he couldn’t help but adjust to the idea.

Now to ensure that others got the chance to see what he’d seen.

It took a longer time than he expected, but soon Nog spoke up, his voice carefully measured.  “Sir… I’m not sure that we can take on that many Jem’Hadar.”  He spoke firmly but carefully, as if he expected Worf to reprimand him for the suggestion that he couldn’t single-handedly slaughter six Jem’Hadar without taking grievous injury in the process.  Perhaps if it had come in any other situation Worf really would have been at least mildly put off by the doubt.  Even he had to admit though, just this once, it was a realistic question.

One at a time, he could handle six Jem’Hadar, it was only a question of endurance in that case.  All at once, then he had to worry about individual attack patterns, ways of handling several opponents all at once.  Victory in that situation… he frowned.  It didn’t matter if he was likely to win.  It mattered that it was their only choice for survival.  For Nog’s survival. 

When Nog replied to his thoughtful silence with a questioning sound, Worf simply stated, “Your concern has been noted Cadet.”  The boy didn’t look impressed, so he continued, exasperation starting to creep into his tone.  “We do not have a lot of options.  No matter how remote the chances of victory, if we hesitate, failure is guaranteed.”

Nog opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but then immediately closed it again.  His shoulders sank a bit, some of the confidence escaping him as the reality of their situation began to overtake him.  “Of course, Sir.”

This was probably the point where Worf ought to say something comforting, even if it was only a false reassurance.  Something to boost morale, perhaps.  It was what Starfleet would have preferred from a Commander dealing with a potentially panicked Cadet.  Unfortunately, Worf was never… good at that sort of thing.

Besides, he still had a sneaking suspicion that if he suddenly started behaving comfortingly, Nog really would believe them to be on the verge of death.

No minor comfort now would compare to getting Nog out of here alive.  As long as they survived this, that was all that would have mattered, more than any potential words he could have said here.  That was at least what he told himself when he simply looked past Nog in order to eye the path they’d come down.  Beyond it were six Jem’Hadar, one Vorta, the only things standing in the way of getting off of this planet alive.

They had to go down, one way or another.  Even if Worf fell in the process.  “We cannot afford to give them a chance to formulate a retaliatory attack.  We will need to hit them quickly and win before they can strike back.”

We.  That word hung at the back of his mind, turned itself over until he came to a solid conclusion – he couldn’t afford to bring Nog into this fight.  Too direct, too much reliance on quick victory in close combat that a Ferengi as small and untrained as Nog couldn’t even hope to match up against.  It wasn’t an insult, though he knew if he spoke it aloud it would be taken as such.  Victory came through understanding the strengths of your warriors – and the weaknesses.

If Nog went into direct combat, he would lose.  Worf knew that much.  And there would be no honor gained in foolishly sending an unprepared Cadet to fight a hopeless battle, not if there was nothing earned from his sacrifice.

Worf breathed slowly in, then out, and made his decision.  “I need you to stay here.  Where it is safe.”  Well.  Safe in comparison.

Nog gave him a look that could only be described as confused offense.  Several silent seconds were spent seemingly just allowing him to process what he’d been told, but as soon as he did, his entire body started to tense up.  Showing physical resistance before he could say a word.  Worf began to walk by him before he could voice those growing protests, but Nog simply turned on his heel immediately to tail after him, forcing him to freeze before the boy could follow him right back to the Jem’Hadar camp.

This was going to be more difficult than he assumed apparently.  He struggled to keep his voice steady, ending up only speaking a single word.  “Cadet.”

The response came high and crackling from the stress, sounding like Nog was halfway to the Ferengi screech without meaning to be.  “You’re going to go alone?  No back up, not even me with a phaser?  The odds are bad enough with just the two of us, if you do this you’ll be lowering them even more.” 

He sounded like he was barely restraining his voice from raising loud enough to be heard.  A difficult task when he’d already pushed himself up onto his toes in order to put more behind the words.  Worf sighed, shaking his head.

“You do not have any combat experience,” he replied simply, looking behind him only enough to watch Nog out of the corner of his eye.  “This is no time to test your skills, it has gone far beyond a training mission.  You will stay here.”  His voice strengthened with every word, until each was firm enough to pin Nog in place.  “Do not follow me.”

When he stepped forward again, he didn’t hear the sound of Nog moving behind him.

Good.  He was learning.

***

Watching Worf leave made his gut feel like it was twisting in on itself, his entire body growing heavy with fear but still staying coiled as tense as a spring, ready to bolt at the slightest trigger.  A feeling that was unfortunately growing quite familiar this trip as each development served to make him panic more.  As Worf vanished from view, though not from earshot, Nog swallowed and tried to figure out his next move.

He wouldn’t stay here, that much was for certain.  Orders or not, Worf was going to die if he took this on.  That much seemed clear to him, even if it somehow didn’t to Worf.  Six against one, six _Jem’Hadar_ against one, even if that one was a Klingon.  It may have been the sort of thing that Klingon war songs were made of, but that only mattered if someone lived to tell the story at all.

Nog swallowed heavily and his fingers dropped down to curl around his phaser, the metal cool and reassuring under his fingers.  As long as he had this, he wasn’t completely helpless.  He had something he could do.  He could help.  Even if it was just a little bit, he could give Worf the edge that may let them win out.  They could actually _live_ through this, not just make a good try at it.

He waited only until he knew that Worf wouldn’t hear him before following after him.

Almost immediately his instincts starting to screech at him to go back to safety, to run while he still had the chance, and even though he was starting to predict exactly when those prey instincts would surge, swallowing it down still took everything he had.  Old instinct had everything to do with the very basic fear of being eaten and very little to do with the actual situation at least.  That gave him an angle to reason it out to himself.  There was nowhere to run, this was no normal predator that would give up when better prey came along, escaping would just be a slower death by starvation or whatever else could happen on a vacant rock.  It wasn’t perfect, but it kept him walking and in a situation like this, that was all that mattered.

Ahead of him, Worf had frozen, apparently finding his spot to plot his attack, and Nog turned away before he could draw too close.  He circled around until he could find a spot to hide himself, crouching down low to the ground to keep hidden.  The foliage hid his precise position until the moment he actually shifted a leaf out of his way – he’d gotten quite close to the Jem’Hadar ship.  The actual group of them sat far enough away that even after Worf struck, Nog knew he could try to provide aid without running the risk of being attacked himself.  Or at least the risk of being attacked immediately, there was no guarantee after that.

Before he could prepare a solid plan though, movement made him freeze.  Nog jerked back out of sight, biting down on his lip to silence a yelp before it could sound.  Slowly, he moved forward, this time pushing the leaves aside only enough to peer out without drawing attention.

He’d expected a Jem’Hadar and a much more complicated fight plan – it wasn’t that, but honestly what was there wasn’t much more comforting.  The Vorta hurried along, her eyes nervous and darting, stance careful.  Tension lingered in every movement, the posture of someone looking for danger to come out of every shadow.  A Ferengi sort of movement, really, though he doubted anyone wanted to hear themselves associated with that comparison.  People rarely wanted to think of themselves as being anything like a Ferengi, even in this sort of situation.

The Vorta paused momentarily and he thought her about to head back to the group, but instead she changed direction only slightly.  Towards the ship.  She was going to head into the ship then.

Nog’s focus shifted to that all at once, body surging forward just a bit to get a better look as she disappeared inside.  The airlock had been closed and he almost expected it to close again behind her, but it didn’t, remaining open as she disappeared into the dim light inside.

He glanced again at the Jem’Hadar, suddenly feeling conflict welling up inside of him.  Worf needed help, that much hadn’t changed, but if he could manage to get onto the ship… there would be weapons there.  Stronger than their own phasers, the ships own weapons even.  All that stood between him and all that firepower was one Vorta.  He glanced to where Worf lingered, still hidden from sight.  Back to the ship.

Breathing in deep, he exhaled every hesitation and fear left in him and followed after her.

***

 Worf settled into his own spot silently, only distantly watching the Vorta as she left the group.  If he could deal with the Jem’Hadar, he was quite certain he could deal with her.  His focus needed to remain on the true threat, the six still gathered around their work.  He would have the element of surprise here, at least.  The value of the first strike was something that couldn’t be underestimated.  If he aimed correctly, he might even be able to take one of the fighters down before they could even begin to retaliate.  Five opponents was hardly better than six, but in a battle like this, he’d need every advantage he could get for himself.

His eyes travelled from one Jem’Hadar to the next.  The closest would be easiest to strike first, his second strike…. The one only half standing, half crouched over.  Unprepared, which made for another easy blow.  Down to four opponents.  After that things became much fuzzier, the Jem’Hadar would be in the battle by then and decisions would have to be made in the midst of things.  But if he could take down two of them before they could strike back, it would be a start.

Few blades could be concealed in a Starfleet uniform and the phaser wasn’t versatile enough for a challenge like this.  A Bat’leth would have been invaluable here, but wasn’t the sort of thing that he could simply carry around with him.

The Mek’leth though.  The Mek’leth he could bring with him.  And, luckily as it turned out, he often did.  His hand wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and he drew it slowly.

No more time for planning.  He lunged forward and struck his first enemy down.

***

Terok Nor had been hell.  It was home, in its own way, it was the way that he grew up, but it had been hell.  Cardassians kept the halls dark, too dark for Ferengi eyes to see most days, and their very presence had struck him as having predators pushed in around him, able to lash out and catch him far too easily for comfort.  A terrifying place to grow up in, to raise a child in, but the experience had taught Nog one thing.  It had taught him all about stealth.

The Vorta hadn’t even looked behind her as she entered, only cautious on the approach.  Despite the Jem’Hadar knowing of their presence on the planet, they didn’t seem terribly concerned about it, apparently as long as she didn’t visibly see someone waiting to strike she didn’t worry about it.  Nog couldn’t say it was smart, but at least it was lucky on their part that she was inexperienced.  That made it easier for him to creep up unnoticed, enter the airlock quietly.  Immediately, he flattened himself against a wall, beginning to move as silently as he could, like he was hoping to draw close enough to steal a slip of latinum from her pocket. 

The interior of the ship was small, cramped, and his first instinct was that the original crew couldn’t have been much bigger than the six survivors they’d seen outside.  It was only a guess, though, hard to tell with a species that required neither living quarters, food, or even the ability to sit down.  It meant one good thing though, he got a good look at the entirety of the central chamber from his vantage point.

Specifically, he got a good look at the box the Vorta had focused her attention on.

She knelt over it, the lid opened, and he craned his neck to try to get a look inside.  Slowly, he edged closer, closer, until he caught the slightest glimpse of something white inside of the case.  His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat.

The Vorta slowly lifted a tube from inside, confirming his first suspicion.  Ketracel White tubes.  The one thing that kept the Jem’Hadar running.  This had to be their stash.

Outside, the sounds of a fight starting welled up and Nog knew without looking that Worf had launched himself at the Jem’Hadar.  The Vorta reacted just as quickly, standing up straight with the white tube still clenched in her hand and turning sharply to face the airlock.  If Nog hadn’t darted to the side the instant she moved, ducking further into the shadows to keep hidden, she would have spotted him.

His ears stayed tuned to the battle outside, ringing loud in his ears.  If he listened he could even hear individual movements, the steps of the Jem’Hadar almost overwhelming the sounds of Worf’s movements – but Worf was still audible and that meant he was still standing.  No way to tell how long that would be true.

Nog bit his lip, stared at the case, and slowly he began to circle around, keeping himself in the shadows.  His hand fell to the phaser at his hip, drew it, and he slowly turned the power up as high as it could go.  He aimed at the box and, as the Vorta started to make her way back towards the airlock to investigate the battle, he cleared his throat to grab her attention.

She turned around and their eyes locked.  No turning back now.


	5. Reaping the Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND IT IS DONE. THIS IS THE LONGEST PIECE OF FICTION I HAVE EVER PRODUCED. It got way too far away from me but I do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I certainly enjoyed writing it.

If the Founders had seen fit to give the Vorta some sort of combat ability instead of directing it all to the Jem’Hadar, Nog had no doubt that she’d have killed him already.  Assuming that he’d even had managed to get this far.  The Vorta, now that she saw him, burned holes in him with her stare.  Her small hands balled up into fists at her sides as the slow realization that not only had someone gotten past her but managed to plant himself in front of the most valuable thing on the ship fully came over her.

An unquestionable success, but Nog still found himself swallowing nervously.  Making the noise that initially drew her attention had been the easy part.  Actually managing to speak, that was much harder.  The Vorta watched him and, at his silence, looked over her shoulder at the airlock.

She was going to call a Jem’Hadar, he knew that instantly, and that made him find his voice.

“Hold on.”  She actually froze, even though she didn’t have to.  Nog fought the urge to bite his lip, he had to act quickly now, no time for hesitation.  Straightening up and putting on the most confident face he could manage, he locked eyes with her.  For once, the model in his mind wasn’t Captain Sisko, the Federation ideal that the Academy had drilled into him.  Instead, he thought of his uncle in the midst of a meticulously planned out deal, acting confident that he could work out a deal before everything turned itself upside down and inside out, even if he didn’t feel as sure as he acted.

Hold your breath.  Watch the dabo wheel spin.  Hope you put your latinum on the winning number.  Be a _Ferengi_ and make a damned gamble – even if he was betting with his life, the reward was enough to justify it.

She wasn’t already calling for a Jem’Hadar at least, that and the sound the battle still raing outside – and the fact that he could hear the battle at all in fact – was a good sign.  He didn’t lower the phaser, but he did bring a placating tone into his voice.  “I just want to talk.”

The Vorta somehow managed to frown harder, her entire face twisting with it as she turned the offer over in her mind.  Vorta were diplomats, at least, he held onto that fact even when his throat started to close up again out of nerves.  Diplomats always preferred a talk over a battle.  She proved it when she shifted into a formal stance, her hands held behind her back.  He let himself relax, even if only barely.  Step one accomplished.  She was listening.

Her eyes swept over him again.  “If you want to talk, then step away from the container.”

Nog didn’t move.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.  We can talk like this.”  Keeping an ear out for battle was harder now that negotiations were ongoing, but he strained for it anyway.  As long as someone out there was fighting, Worf was still standing.

Maybe not winning.  But he was standing.

When the Vorta looked ready to argue with him, Nog continued, “It’d be a bad idea to give up on a bargaining chip.  You’re a diplomat, you’d understand that.”

Still frowning.  She looked to the Ketracel crate, then to the phaser.  “I suppose you have a point there.  But a bargaining chip implies you want to make a deal – so what sort of deal _are_ you after, Ferengi?”

Exactly as expected.  Step two.  She was talking.  Time for another spin of the wheel, double or nothing.

“The parts you stole from our runabout.  I know the exact inventory and there’s enough for both of us to repair our ships and leave, I can promise you that.  No fighting needed.”  His eyes briefly darted to the airlock.  He couldn’t quite see Worf out there to see how he was doing, how much longer he had, but he knew that whatever time he had left it wasn’t much.  “My Commander is out there, fighting your soldiers.  I don’t know how many are left standing right now but they’re still fighting so I don’t think they all are anymore.  If you don’t call them off, he might win and even if he doesn’t…”  He tightened his grip on the phaser to make his point.

“I can destroy the crate before any of them can get in here to stop me.  I know what happens when they go without their White, you’d really be in trouble without it.  Getting off the planet will be the least of your problems.”  His voice rose in volume but he managed to keep it from shaking.  “If you call them off, you can fix your ship, we’ll fix ours, and we both get off this planet without more time wasted fighting each other.  I think you can agree that this’ll be a good deal for both sides?”

The sounds of battle were slowing, the sound of metal on metal coming with full seconds between them.  Worf was either down or on the retreat, Nog couldn’t be optimistic enough to think that he was coming out on the winning side.  He tried not to let it affect his expression or his stance.  Showing your weaknesses was the leading factor in deals falling through, even beating out distraction and lack of sufficient greed.  Not all lessons that his uncle had ingrained in him were useful in the Federation but some of them might just save his life.

The Vorta hadn’t shown any visual indication of _liking_ this arrangement, but Nog watched for even small hints that she may have been considering it.  The furrow of a brow in thought, the quick glances back to the airlock, then to the crate.  She was thinking about it.  Just not fast enough.  He twitched his hand to draw her attention to the phaser again.

Please let this work.

***

The first part of his plan had gone exactly as planned.  One firm strike to the throat took the Jem’Hadar to the ground and he did not rise again.  It was the next part that grew difficult, the second Jem’Hadar dodging out of the path of Worf’s strike, taking only a minor wound to the arm in the process.

A lesser warrior would have let such a setback trip him up but Worf was well acquainted with fights that didn’t initially go his way.

Practiced or not, though, five formidable opponents could not be taken lightly.  Eventually another fell beneath his blade, but Worf took several wounds of his own in exchange for the accomplishment.  Four left.

The possibility of failure lingered but Worf did not let it come to the forefront of his mind where it could overwhelm him.  All that mattered was the defeat of these four.  If he could accomplish that, death would not be unacceptable.  It would at least leave Nog with a chance against the Vorta.  An end in battle against a superior force that allowed a companion to live – Worf couldn’t ask for a more honorable death.

Still, that depended on his ability to take down these four.  The blows had started to slow him, blood staining his uniform and his blade in equal measure, his breathing coming slower and more labored as the cuts multiplied.  He ignored it, let the fury of battle cloud his mind, narrow his vision to only the opponents and the terrain, his entire world condense into this one moment—

It worked well enough that when a voice called out and the Jem’Hadar’s attacks suddenly ceased, Worf almost didn’t realize just what had happened.

Eventually though, his head jerked up to find the source of the voice.  The Vorta, he realized that as his mind began to clear, and… another figure.  She wasn’t alone.  Still, the small form at her side almost didn’t quite register if only because his presence made no sense.

Several seconds passed though and Nog still remained at her side.  They were going to have words.  Several of them.  The fact that both of them were apparently alive and capable of exchanging those words still stunned him, but that didn’t change the facts of the matter.

Nog caught his stare and gave a sheepish smile.  His head dipped a small fraction, almost but not quite a Ferengi cringe.  As much of one as he could allow himself in the situation.  Worf rarely thought of any sort of _cringing_ as a good thing but at least Nog was aware of his complete failure to keep himself safe.  However well it apparently went.

The Vorta spoke first, looking past Worf to address only her soldiers.  “A deal has been made,” she said firmly.  “Repair supplies will be split equally with these two and hostilities will cease on both sides.”  She offered no explanation and apparently none was needed.  The Jem’Hadar obeyed instantly and without complaint, verbal complaint at least – the survivors exchanged an odd glance but said nothing against the order.  Whatever their preference was, they would not disobey.

At her side, Nog fidgeted, leaned forward and looked at her as if to check if she were done before coughing.  “Right.  Well then… I’ll just… start splitting up those parts.”  He shuffled forward, her glare following him the entire way.

“Watch him,” she said to the nearest soldier, her voice irritable.  Nog may have successfully hammered out a deal but it was clear that she was in no way pleased with that fact, despite her agreement. “Make sure he keeps the parts equal.”

Nog offered no complaint to the demand, even with a Jem’Hadar beginning to tail him the instant he passed.  He caught Worf’s arm on the way, a brief contact meant to urge him to follow.  He did so, reluctantly, but muttered under his breath, “You will explain yourself on the runabout.”  The sentence left no room for argument and Nog didn’t even make the attempt.  Good.  Then this flagrant ignoring of orders wasn’t becoming a habit.

Though perhaps the boy would be more apologetic were Worf not still bleeding as he moved.  As much as he tried to hide it, he’d been coming close to defeat.  It hardly presented the best argument for following the commands of his superiors.

Nog crouched down near the spread out parts, deftly beginning to separate them into piles under the Jem’Hadar’s watchful gaze.  Worf placed himself firmly between them without hesitation.  If at any point the deal was broken and they attacked, they would have to deal with him first.  He may be bloodied and wounded but he’d taken down two of their comrades and would have no problem attempting a third victory.

They were not fools though, or disobedient.  Soon Nog stood, having fully sorted the parts onto a large piece of fabric the Vorta had rather unwillingly given up when asked for it.  A primitive mode of transportation, but functional enough.  Nog gathered all four corners in his hand to begin dragging, taking it all on himself instead of asking for help. 

Worf simply placed his own hand below Nog’s and tugged it hard enough that the Ferengi soon lost his grip.  Even bleeding he had far more ability to carry the mass than Nog.  He stalked wordlessly to the forest as Nog mumbled an awkward, “Uh, pleasure doing business with you,” before sprinting to follow.

“We really need to get to the Rio Grande,” he muttered immediately as they disappeared from the Jem’hadar’s view.  “Fast.”

“And you still need to explain yourself.”

Nog let out a frustrated noise, practically bouncing in place with nerves.  His eyes constantly darted back to look behind them, watching to see if they were followed despite the fact that he would hear pursuit long before he saw it.  “I will, I promise, just can we please get to the Rio Grande first?”

Ignoring orders still apparently.  Worf narrowed his eyes at him.  Had he been at full strength and energy he would have demanded an explanation.  As it was, he simply continued dragging.  It would take everything he had to get back to the runabout as it was, no sense wasting energy until they were safe.  And if this stunt had done anything, it at least proved that Nog had what it took to make a coherent plan.  Unwise as it may have been.

He could win this one.

***

While getting the parts across a dense forest was no easy task, getting the Rio Grande into working order was by far the harder one.  Worf had to admit, when lugging the parts into place left him winded, that perhaps he truly did need medical attention.  At least a dermal regenerator.  Were he in better working order he would have been agitated at Nog nearly _shooing_ him into the room where the runabout’s medical supplies were stored.  When it came down to it, though, even he had to admit that he would be no help if he could hardly stand.

Also, he was beginning to get blood on the floor.  That would help nobody.

Still, wounded or not, Worf was not one to be _confined_ to a crew area while there were jobs to be finished.  Even if the only thing he could manage was planting himself in view of Nog while he patched himself back into a mostly functional state.  Not in any shape to go running into battle, perhaps, but good enough to control a runabout.  And, once they were far away from this place, good enough to contact the station to explain their sudden loss of communication.  Also the sudden loss of their cargo.  At least the ship they were commanded to aid was likely not in danger.  They were probably having a _far_ more relaxing time than their supposed rescuers.

Only when the repairs were finished – and Worf managed to get to his chair without limping – did Nog finally relax, as if he’d expected the deal to be broken at any moment.  Worf saw the opportunity to speak to him, but still waited until they were safely on their way _out_ of the system to take it.  

“I require an explanation from you.”  He said the words without looking away from his controls.  His tone stated more clearly than any eye contact could that he would not be dissuaded now that the threat was past.  “You disobeyed your orders.”  A pause lingered between them before he reluctantly continued.  “…But I must give credit where it is due.  I do not believe we would have escaped the planet without your actions.”  This was hardly supporting the overall lesson, but Worf would be a fool not to acknowledge it.  “I do, however, question the wisdom in allowing our enemies to escape as well.  Those Jem’Hadar would not have the opportunity to escape were we to have followed my plan.”

Another slow mile, this one far more confident and self satisfied.  The sight of it out of the corner of his eye finally made Worf turn his head to establish eye contact.  Nog met it without hesitation.  “I’ll be surprised if they make it off the planet with what I left them.”   At Worf’s confused stare, he continued.  “Working with Chief O’Brien taught me a lot of things.  A lot about parts… and how many of them can look almost the same without actually being the right part.  Someone that knew what they were doing could still make it work, sure, but the Jem’Hadar…”

He trailed off, looking to Worf as if asking for his approval.  For a moment there was only stunned, _impressed_ silence.  And then Worf simply shook his head as he turned back to the controls.  “…It seems Starfleet has a place for the Ferengi after all.”  Another pause.  Perhaps he needed to make his praise more apparent.  “I will be contacting Deep Space 9 shortly to report on our mission to Captain Sisko.  Your performance will be mentioned… as well as the fact that you have far exceeded Expectations.”  Worf didn’t need to be looking to know that Nog’s smile had likely grown to nearly radiant levels.

Let him be proud.  Once Worf opened the communications panel, everyone on Deep Space 9 would know just how deserved it was.

 


End file.
